Winter
2011
Even if
my face is smudged with frozen dirt, an impetuous gardener like me
must hold my head high as I face winter on in northern Idaho. I have
to forgive myself for the unweeded patches, the unplanted bulbs, and
the perennials I forgot to transplant. Soon the snows of November
(and December and January and February) will cover my blunders. I am
most looking forward to a cascade of snow burying the hulking
mountain of worm-riddled apples, which I hauled by the bucketful
directly to the compost pile from under the tree where they fell. I
love apples, and enjoy eating a crisp Braeburn or Granny Smith every
day as part of my lunch. But the little green apples on the tree in
our front yard – tasteless, inedible and too small even for sauce –
have been the beasts in my garden for weeks.
I
muttered at them with every bucket I filled. After a recent
windstorm, I looked up from my knees at the apple tree, after
gathering the last of my fallen enemies. “I got you all,” I
snarled at the bare branches over my head. “And don’t even think
about letting a bee near your blossoms next spring.” I glared at
the tree, shook my fist, and then yelped when a stray apple hurtled
from a high branch and conked me on the nose before it landed.
After
the apple fiasco, I knew it was time to come in from the cold. If I
wanted to enjoy the holidays without regrets, I had to make my peace
with my limits as a gardener.I have a full indoor calendar this month
and through December: hosting Thanksgiving dinner for the finest
newsroom an editor and his wife could hope to know, taking down the
autumn decorations and putting up the angels and garlands for
Christmas, directing the rehearsals and performance of 30 fabulous
children and teenagers for our church’s Christmas pageant, shopping
for and wrapping gifts for our little grandsons, baking 12 million
cookies, and making all the favorite family recipes for our family’s
Christmas visit here.
I
imagine your own November and December is equally jammed. (I’m also
pretty sure you noticed that I left out any mention of pre-holiday
housecleaning. I am still a believer in the magic of the elves. Maybe
this year they will come to my house, armed with their tiny dusters,
mops, and cleaning supplies. If not, I have work to do.)
As I
watch the snow fall during the next few months,I know I will wonder
if spring will ever come again. After the holidays, it will be time
to settle into my armchair and start marking the seed catalogs that
have arrived in the mail. Also in winter, many of us spend our former
outdoor time reading books about gardening. I highly recommend a
memoir that can help any gardener put his or her impetuous nature
into perspective.
The
book, by William Alexander, is titled “The $64 Tomato.” Its
subtitle reveals that the author is as impetuous a gardener as any of
us: “How One Man Nearly Lost His Sanity, Spent a Fortune, and
Endured an Existential Crisis in the Quest for the Perfect Garden.”
William Alexander belongs on the throne in the Impetuous Gardeners’
Hall of Fame (or Hall of Shame, depending on who’s reading the
book.) His journey into a darkly comic gardening inferno began when
he and his wife impetuously decided to buy an extreme fixer-upper
house, on acreage that also needed major rescuing. He was confident
that they could do most of the work on the house and the gardens
themselves.
“Alexander
had always dreamed of having his own garden, where he could grow
healthy, organic fruits and vegetables,” begins a review in the
School Library Journal. “When his family moved to the Hudson
Valley, he got his wish – there was more than enough land for his
vegetable garden, his apple orchard, his wife's flower garden, and a
swimming pool.
“He
had done his research and knew which crops to plant and when, what
type of fencing he'd need, and how to defend his garden against
predators. What he hadn't counted on were the facts that planting sod
around the swimming pool killed the corn, and that planting
rosebushes killed the sod. There were also landscaping contractors
always behind schedule, a groundhog that figured out how to get
through a 10,000-electric-volt fence, and feasting deer.
“After
years of fighting pests, Alexander realized that there was no such
thing as an organic garden in the Northeast, and that for each tomato
he'd taken from his garden he'd spent $64; ultimately, what was once
a hobby became a second full-time job.”
Alexander’s
wife, bless her heart, preferred pottering about in her flower garden
to joining his battle to tame the vagaries of nature. If you read
this memoir, nothing you decide to do in your own yard will seem too
impetuous to consider. (I have to go talk to my husband again about
transplanting our four new fruit trees.)
May
whichever wintertime holidays or solstice you celebrate be filled
with joy and peace. I will miss writing for you every week and will
look forward to more gardening adventures after the new year.
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